


Blue Skies and Sunshine

by VivificanousPrime



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23720893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivificanousPrime/pseuds/VivificanousPrime
Summary: Bluestreak never really liked the medbay, but when Jazz asks him to help cheer up some of the injured 'bots stuck in there, he can't refuse the chance to make someone smile.Sunstreaker and Sideswipe rarely have to stay in the medbay, but when Breakdown is away, Knock Out doesn't have much of choice.Sometimes, things happen for a reason.
Relationships: Bluestreak/Sunstreaker (Transformers), Breakdown/Knock out mentioned - Relationship, Jazz/Prowl mentioned - Relationship
Comments: 12
Kudos: 63





	Blue Skies and Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first attempt at creative writing, so any (kind) criticism is very welcome!  
> This is a short one shot that shows the beginning of a life-long friendship and eventual romance between Sunstreaker and Bluestreak. It's part of a larger storyline I have in mind that starts with the end of the Golden Age and finishes a little after the war ends. Let me know if this appeals to anyone, and I can post more!

Bluestreak didn’t travel to the medbay often, mostly out of fear of its guardian. Ratchet was caring in his own way, but his casual threats to weld people to walls and his arsenal of swear words did nothing to ease Blue’s shyness around the medic. Or perhaps it was simply the events following the fall of Praxus that had him on edge any time he was anywhere near sickbay. The flashbacks of being surrounded by medics and machines as he endured what he believed was the single worst pain anyone could ever experience were enough to send him in a panic.

It was a wonder Jazz could stand waltzing around the place every other decacycle.

“I know what it’s like to be in their positions,” Jazz had explained. “I know how it feels to be stuck in there. And let me tell you, I wouldn’t’ve come out of any of it sane if not for your carrier keeping me calm or Blaster playing me my favorite tones.”

There was that smirk again, tight, and maybe a little forced. Blue could vaguely see his sire’s optics shy away passed his visor before they refocused.

“Not everyone is as lucky as me and you.”

The tightness in his chest returned accompanied by that sting behind his optics. He had half a mind to protest when Jazz set a comforting servo on his shoulder. Such a small motion, but it was enough to relax the plating. Blue remembered those same servos, that same smile, pulling him out of the panic and pain all those years ago. The youngling’s gaze met his sire’s as slow understanding swept through him. It had been his only source of a hopeful reality hearing Jazz crack jokes as Prowl had held him close, keeping him together. Jazz had placed a simple servo on his shoulder and told him with no hint of uncertainty that he was going to be alright. Blue had yet to be given a reason not to believe him.

“Do you think…” Bluestreak spoke up, gaze and voice shaky. “Would I be any good at it? Maybe?”

“I’m bored.”

“Hmm.”

“Like really bored.”

“Okay.”

“I want to do something.”

“Like _what_?”

“Anything!”

“Then perish.”

Sunstreaker could feel his brother’s death stare and relished in it. Try as he might, though, he refused to look up from his pad no matter what Sideswipe threw at him.

“You’re not that funny.”

“You’re not that creative.”

“Play with me! Please!”

“I’m busy.”

“Please!”

“No.”

The dramatic sounds of his brother’s last slag expelling from his body were a temping sight, but Sunstreaker held his helm. It wasn’t enough to dissuade him from his current task. Neither was the incoming kick to his side despite it sending him completely off his chair.

Spite was a strong thing.

“Boys!”

Fortunate, Sunstreaker thought, that he was the one on the floor.

Knock Out entered their little corner of the medbay with all the subtly of a combiner, his presence made immediately known if not by the bright red paint-job, then by the flourish with which he moved. It was a sight to see, for sure, but not one Sunstreaker cared enough to observe. After all, the impending lecture wasn’t meant for him.

“Sunny is ignoring me!”

“Sunstreaker,” he muttered the correction.

“So, what, he decided collapsing to the floor was the best way to avoid you?” Sunstreaker nearly broke just to see that sarcastic smirk his carrier loved to wear. It felt oh so rewarding when it was directed at anyone else apart from him, but he held. His work was nearly complete…

“He likes it down there!”

“Sideswipe…”

“I just want to play with him!”

“Why don’t you two make a deal? Hmm? How about after Sunstreaker finishes his drawing, you two can do an activity together?”

“Wait, what?” The connection to his pad finally broken, Sunstreaker directed a pleading and betrayed look to his carrier.

“What am _I_ supposed to do, then!” Sideswipe threw his arms in the air like an idiot.

“Find an activity, I don’t know! I have work to get back to, so please just get along for a few more hours!” And with that, Knock Out left the twins to their own devices yet again, his exit more stress induced than his entrance.

For a moment, the pair just looked at each other, Sideswipe at a loss and Sunstreaker frustrated. The latter rose from his seat on the floor and made it half a step before being interrogated.

“Where are you going? We have a deal don’t we?” Sideswipe burst out just barely below the audio-range of their recently departed carrier.

“Yeah. I get to finishing drawing first.”

“You’re just never going to finish! No fair!”

“Sucks for you.” Sideswipe evidently had one more slag left, this one accompanied by him falling backward in his seat, proving once again that he was, in fact, his carrier’s son.

Sunstreaker proceeded to wonder the medbay—at least the sections of it he was allowed in—searching for a new, brother-free zone to work. There was a sizable stack of crates against one wall that faced several rows of medical berths, all filled with uncleared patients. It wasn’t a particularly lovely sight, but Sunstreaker figured no one could really bother him so long as he didn’t make a nuisance of himself. He climbed up the crates, taking extra care to be quiet. Once perched, he got back to work.

It was sometime later—he had done maybe two new works—when Sunstreaker heard a commotion. At first, he thought it might be his brother so ignored it. But then he heard laughter from someone he was sure he didn’t recognize. Without climbing down, he looked in the direction of the noise only to spot Jazz palling around with some of the medbay occupants. Well that was nothing new. The spy guy came around often to visit with people and even tried to talk to him on occasion. Sideswipe thought the mech was “the coolest”, but Sunstreaker didn’t care one way or another. Jazz respected his wish for privacy and that was that.

Another voice chimed in, this one higher than Jazz’s but with a similar accent. The mech sounded younger, impossibly happier, and—

“What’s happening, cutie?” —and interrupted by Sideswipe.

Intrigue quickly suppressed, Sunstreaker set about his original task. There was something just a little off about the proportions…

“Hello!”

Every circuit in the young mech froze in an instant. Slowly, with his features drawn, Sunstreaker lifted his helm high enough to peer at the source of the voice. There, smiling brighter than he had thought possible, was a young Praxian. He had a bright red chevon that contrasted sharply with his grey color-scheme. The large door-wings on the mechling’s back fluttered in a happy little gesture that sent the energon right up to Sunstreaker’s faceplates.

“I’m Bluestreak!” His awe-struck state faltered for a moment as Sunstreaker fought to find at least a speck of blue on the other kid. No luck. Just grey. A pretty grey mind you, soft and cool, but certainly not blue.

It occurred to Sunstreaker that a conversation was initiated and all he had done thus far was stare dumb-struck like a moron.

“Sunstreaker,” he responded, “Cause I’m yellow.” Primus.

“Neat! You are pretty yellow—a pretty yellow! I don’t know anyone who could pull off a yellow that isn’t gold. Even then, they can only really do accents. But you were born that way, so it works! Primus is much better at paint-jobs, I think. He seems to know what he’s doing. I sometimes wish he’d done something different with me though. I’m kind of plain. On the outside at least. I’m told I have a colorful personality!”

Sunstreaker’s back plating relaxed ever so slightly as the mechling’s name suddenly made sense. It was going to be one of _those_ kinds of conversations.

“That’s why I’m hanging out here actually! Apparently, my smile is infectious! I mean—not actually—I can make other people smile by smiling.” As Bluestreak’s brightness dimmed slightly under the weight of his own awkwardness, Sunstreaker threw up a corner of mouth as a lifeline. Just one corner. To save them both.

“Blue!” Jazz called from the side of some roughed-up soldier Sunstreaker couldn’t begin to guess the name of. With a quick “See ya!” and another smile, Bluestreak took off, leaving Sunstreaker alone again with his pad.

The plan was to return to what he was previously doing, but the desire to finish had left him, replaced by a new intrigue. Sunstreaker glanced back up to see the Bluestreak kid smiling away at some guy missing his left leg and hooked up to a bunch of monitors. Blue was seated on Jazz’s lap as the two sat next to the leg-lacking mech, coaxing a few words and even a grin out of him. Then they moved on to the patient next to him. Then the femme next to him. And the mech next to her. They traveled from person to person, either staying just long enough to wish them well or sharing a quick tale or two or encouraging a light chuckle.

It was odd, to say the least. But mesmerizing.

Sunstreaker hadn’t really noticed what he was doing until three more pages of his pad were filled of nothing but snapshots of those small, intimate moments. Moments Sunstreaker had done his best to capture. There was a war in the eyes of those soldiers, and for a brief second a layer of mirth seemed to cover it, residing at the surface until it seeped beneath their trauma.

He was so captivated by his own art that he didn’t notice when he was approached again.

“Whatcha doing?”

The freeze overtook him once again at the sound of that chipper voice.

“This,” he muttered as he held up his pad. Of course, the back was facing Bluestreak. And of course, the mechling thought that was an invitation. But how could he say no as Bluestreak beamed at him with a flutter of his wings and then proceeded to scale the crates to sit by his side. Not seeing a way out of the situation he had made himself, Sunstreaker stiffly handed over the pad and hoped for the best.

“You can draw? Dumb question—ignore that. It’s just that I can’t but I love this stuff! I like all art, really. Do you like music?” Bluestreak shot him another smile. All Sunstreaker could do was nod. “Me too! So does my sire! He got me into music and dancing. We sing all the time!”

There was an opening there, a point of common interest. Sunstreaker thought a moment about how to phrase his words as he watched Bluestreak appreciate—honestly see and analyze the art as he had been taught to do—the sketches of him and Jazz with various injured soldiers.

“My carrier taught me.”

“How to art?” Bluestreak’s gaze didn’t leave the drawings.

“Yeah.” His stiff shoulders began to loosen.

“I really like this one!”

“Which?”

“This one! I like sketchy lines! And it really looks like Brawn! This one is good, too! There’re all great really…” Something changed. In an instant, the look in Bluestreak’s eyes deepened until they could have been mistaken for any of the other mechs Sunstreaker had drawn. Just as quickly, it was gone, mirth once again taking over. “Do you like to color?”

As the conversation flowed, the freeze thawed. Sunstreaker found himself enjoying Bluestreak’s company. He didn’t have to talk much passed a few one word sentences and ‘hmm’s, a comforting interaction he had never realized was possible. But there was Bluestreak, completely carrying the conversation and seeming delighted to do so. It ended all too soon as Jazz came to grab his creation to leave.

The two younglings began the decent down from their perch, but that did nothing to deter Bluestreak’s rambling.

“I think the only problems with your art right now is experience and hyperbole.”

Sunstreaker was at a loss to what that was supposed to mean and stopped his climbing to squint his optics at the Praxian.

“I look too beautiful.” It was said so matter-of-factly, as if there was no mistaking its obviousness, that Jazz gave a little chuckle from behind them.

“Do you… _want_ …an ugly portrait?”

“No! I mean draw me right! I don’t look like that!” he laughed.

“I thought I did good. That’s what you look like to me.”

“You think I’m _that_ pretty?”

Thinking before speaking was a skill Sunstreaker clearly still struggled with. His chassis tightened up again. He looked over at the mechling standing next him at the base of their crates, grinning softly with so much hope in his eyes. His door wings did that little flutter motion again, hanging relaxed and low at ease with his surroundings. The words took a minute to form, and he wasn’t certain how eloquent he would sound, but when he spoke next, he did so with honesty and assurance in his EM field.

“Usually, beauty on the outside and beauty on the inside don’t go together, but you are an exception.”

Later, the two would look back on this moment as the first instance Sunny left Blue speechless. And as the first moment Blue realized Sunny set him apart from the rest of his pessimistic world. For now, all Bluestreak could think to say was:

“You’re pretty exceptional, too!”

The energon rushed back up to his helm, and Sunstreaker struggled to remember just when he and his brother typically visited the rec-room when asked, opting to agree to show up at Bluestreak’s usual time the next cycle. They waved and traded smiles as Bluestreak and Jazz left the medbay. Sunstreaker didn’t seem to mind as Blue called out:

“See you later, Sunny!”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! Please stay safe and wash your hands! The world is crazy right now!


End file.
